


Turn-taking

by flowersforgraves



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Gang Rape, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Sexual Violence, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:15:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29054259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/pseuds/flowersforgraves
Summary: Connor will let them do whatever they want, as long as they keep their hands off Murphy.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13
Collections: Bulletproof 20/21





	Turn-taking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StormyDaze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormyDaze/gifts).



The hand in Connor’s hair tightens its grip. “Shut the fuck up, whore,” whoever is holding him says. The blindfold is a lot more disorienting than it probably should be – with his ears already ringing and his vision obscured, he can barely hold himself upright.

Connor spits on the floor. He’d have spat at the guy if he could tell what was going on around him, but he’s kind of shit outta luck there. “Fuck you,” he returns. The metal taste of blood in his mouth stings, and he’s still out of breath from the beating he’d taken earlier, but he hasn’t stopped fighting.

“Do you want us to rape your brother instead?” asks a different voice.

Connor goes still immediately. A guffaw sounds from the man holding his hair. “God, look how fucking easy he is! The second he hears we’re gonna lay a fucking finger on his brother he’s practically begging to suck cock.”

“You keep your fucking hands off Murphy,” Connor snarls. “Do whatever you want to me, I don’t care, just leave my brother alone.”

“Whatever we want, huh?” asks the second voice. “Dangerous proposition there, pretty boy.”

Something cool and metal traces the line of Connor’s jaw, and he swallows hard. “Fuck you,” he says again. “What the fuck do you want?”

“We’re just gonna have some fun with you,” the second voice says, and the smirk that Connor can practically hear dripping off his voice is _infuriating_. “Nothing to worry about. Just some friendly little games between business associates.”

The metal thing turns, and the tip of a knife bites into his lower lip. “Open that pretty mouth, boy. We’re gonna fuck you in both ends.”

“And remember, your brother gets the same treatment if you fuck up,” adds the guy holding Connor’s hair. “Be careful.”

It’s for Murphy’s sake that Connor doesn’t bite down on the cock that gets shoved into his mouth, but still, it’s a near thing. He gags on it, actively suppressing every instinct in his body that still wants to fight or run, and clenches his fists tight at his sides. His only concession to the horror of it is a hard flinch when a knife tears through his jeans and boxers, and even then he makes sure not to scrape his teeth against the cock in his mouth.

Cold fingers dig into the flesh of his ass, a boot sweeping his legs open, and he violently quashes the urge to scream by closing his lips around the dick in his mouth. He leans forward as much as he dares, taking the cock deep until it almost hits the back of his throat, and tries desperately to ignore what’s happening behind him.

The man behind him doesn’t give him the courtesy of fingers first. Connor hears him spit, then seconds later, there’s a cock pushing at his hole. Tears sting his eyes under the blindfold at the pain of the sudden penetration, but he ignores it and tries to narrow his focus all the way down to nothing but giving head.

It works well enough that before Connor can get properly used to the stretch and burn of penetration, the owner of the cock in his mouth pulls out and comes over Connor’s face. “Fuck, he’s good,” comes the rough-voiced approval, and Connor squeezes his eyes shut. “Pervert’s so possessive of his brother he probably gets in a lotta practice.”

“Fuck you,” Connor gasps, throat raw. He knows it’s tired, knows he’s said it too many times already, but Jesus Christ ( _lord’s name_ , Murphy’s voice says in his ear), these fuckers need to back the fuck off. “You don’t know shit.”

The man fucking him laughs and rolls his hips. “Touched a nerve there, eh?” Connor has to bite back another pained noise, teeth digging into his lip hard enough to draw blood. “Hey, go ahead and call the others in for their turn when you’re cleaned up.”

Turn-taking. Fuck. Connor refuses to let them see him break, no matter how much he wants to. He won’t call out, won’t cry, won’t let them break his spirit, and as long as it’s him and not Murph it’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. He’ll make it through, and he’ll be _fine_.

Connor loses track of time around half an hour in. It’s all he can do to lie still and let it happen, let the fucking jar him against the floor and slowly push him forward, because he’s too exhausted to even try to respond. Every ounce of his energy is going to suppressing the noises his traitorous mouth keeps wanting to make, because he’ll be damned if he lets them win. Besides, if Murph hears him cry out he might do something stupid, and Connor won’t have that on his conscience.

His mouth is filled with blood, leaking out through his clenched teeth, when the first noise escapes him. His face is wet, the blindfold soaked through with tears, and the thing he can’t swallow is a sob.

“Done with him yet?” someone asks. Connor hears it as if through a long-distance phone line, a conversation with Ma back in Ireland, her voice practically deafening him in one ear as Murphy presses against his side, listening in.

“Almost,” says the voice behind him, which is probably a different one than before, but Connor’s blood is pounding in his ears and he tries so hard to stop crying, and he _can’t_. “Just gimme another minute.” Fingernails claw down his hipbones, raised red marks that surely won’t fade fast enough for Murphy not to see.

He sinks back into the horrible miasma of blood and pain and tears and nothing, until the cock in his hole isn’t replaced with a new one. Finally, the blindfold is ripped away as he’s pulled upright, and Connor blinks away from the sudden light. “Not so tough now, are you, pretty boy?” sneers his torturer.

Connor spits in his face, barely able to see, and doesn’t dare say a word.

They throw him bodily back into the room with Murphy. His brother’s not hurt beyond the scuffle when they’d been brought in, and Connor hates how pitifully grateful he is that they’d kept their word. “Conn!” Murphy says, immediately rushing to Connor’s side. “Fuck, Conn, are – shit, are you still with me?”

Connor uncurls his hands from his sides, bloody crescent moons from his nails left in his palms. “Murph,” he croaks, and _sobs_.

Murphy holds him, rocks him gently, pets his hair and murmurs softly in his ear, while Connor clings to him and cries. “We’re gonna get out of here, Connor. I promise we’re gonna get out and we’re gonna kill them. I promise. It’ll be fine,” Murphy tells him, and Connor doesn’t bother hiding the tears anymore.


End file.
